


Twenty-Six Flat Screen TVs and All-You-Can-Eat Hotwings

by patchfire, raving_liberal



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alcohol, Canon Compliant, Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant, Drinking, Drinking Is Not To Impairment, F/M, Food, Missing Scene, Non-Consensual Background Check, Sam Wilson Birthday Bang, Sam Wilson is a Gift, Secret Identity, Surveillance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-21
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2018-12-31 07:44:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12127773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patchfire/pseuds/patchfire, https://archiveofourown.org/users/raving_liberal/pseuds/raving_liberal
Summary: Sam thought he was picking up a hot girl in a bar. He had no idea he’d been scouted and submitted to a thorough background check by her days earlier.





	Twenty-Six Flat Screen TVs and All-You-Can-Eat Hotwings

**Author's Note:**

> Art for this work created by [whatthefoucault](http://whatthefoucault.tumblr.com/). Thank you, Sami!
> 
> Betaread by Gleennui. Thank you, lizbef!

_2105: Subject entered Wonderland Lounge alone._

 

Sam likes to think that part of what makes him good at his job is that he takes his own advice. Routines, interspersed with new experiences. Going to the same bar for the third Thursday night running isn’t either one—it’s not routine yet, but it’s not new—but he’s said that before, too. Never know when a new experience will turn into an enjoyable routine. 

The bar is low-key for D.C. There are zero foreign diplomats, very few Congressional staffers, and an average number of federal government employees, mostly lifers. Sam figures about fifteen percent of the bar is either military or ex-military, which is enough he doesn’t feel like he sticks out, but not so much it’s like being back on base. He nods at the bartender when he enters, who seems to recognize him from the previous two weeks, and scans the bar. 

Sam smiles almost involuntarily when he makes eye contact with a short, fit redhead. Her silver dress has a low back, but the overall effect when Sam looks at her is classy. He sits down at the end of the bar where he can still see her, looking over the list of specials. 

When the bartender approaches, Sam doesn’t look up or at the redhead. “What’s the redhead having?” he asks quietly. 

“Zyr vodka, neat,” the bartender says. 

“Send her another one in about five minutes,” Sam says, then looks up. “I’ll have an old-fashioned.” 

The bartender nods, fixes Sam’s drink, and at four minutes, twenty-five seconds after Sam ordered the vodka, the bartender sets it down in front of the redhead. She has a short exchange with the bartender before glancing in Sam’s direction again. This time, when they make eye contact, she smiles at him. 

Sam returns the smile and picks up his drink. It might not mean a thing, and it might go nowhere, but it’s a good start to the evening, at least. 

 

_2112: Visual contact made with subject. Operative approach in 30 contingent on subject’s state of inebriation. Two drink maximum for engagement. B team hold._

 

After his old-fashioned, Sam orders a hummus platter and a jerk chicken sandwich along with the second drink, and he surveys the room again. The redhead is still there, and no one particularly interesting has come in after Sam. 

He’s halfway through his jerk chicken sandwich, and about halfway through the old-fashioned, when the fit redhead stands up and walks towards him. Sam hurriedly finishes his bite and wipes his mouth just as she reaches him. 

She leans in just close enough to for him to hear over the noise of the bar. “I’d ask if you come here often, but I don’t, so that doesn’t really matter,” she says. “I’m Natalie.”

“Sam,” he says, nodding towards the seat next to him. “I’m taking a tour, trying the jerk chicken in D.C.” He isn’t, but it sounds good. 

“So what’s the verdict?” Natalie asks as her eyes flick down to his sandwich and back up to Sam’s face. She perches on the edge of the seat leaning slightly in towards him like she’s waiting for him to share a secret. 

“Pretty good for D.C.,” Sam says. “Can’t touch this place in San Antonio, near Lackland.” 

Natalie shakes her head. “If you’re looking for jerk chicken in D.C., you have to go to Jam Doung in Bloomingdale. It’s some of the best I’ve had on the east coast.”

“Jam Doung, huh?” Sam pulls out his phone and makes a note. He isn’t actually trying all the jerk chicken in D.C., but if Natalie says it’s some of the best on the entire east coast, he wants to remember the name. While Sam is making his note, Natalie pulls out her own phone and appears to be rapidly texting someone. 

 

_2134: Contact made with subject. Subject is observant and well-socialized. Will continue to report. B team on standby._

 

Natalie smiles as she looks up from her phone. “Sorry. Updating a friend.”

“We all stay connected all the time now,” Sam says, then startles a little. “Wait, is that the new Stark phone? I thought that wasn’t out for another six months!” 

Natalie shrugs slightly, an elegant roll of her shoulders, before tucking the phone back into a small silver clutch that barely seems large enough to hold the phone. “I have a few professional connections,” she says. 

“Nice connections,” Sam says. “Is it as revolutionary as the press suggests?” He knows she probably can’t tell him details, but ‘revolutionary’ is nice and vague. 

“Oh, you know how it is with technology,” Natalie says. “There’s always something faster, smarter, and shinier out there, no matter how new your phone is.”

“Oh, I know that,” Sam agrees. “Would you like another drink?” 

“I don’t know, Sam. Do I look like a girl who wants another drink?” Natalie asks, quirking one auburn eyebrow. 

“You look like a girl who’d like to see more of the city than the inside of this establishment tonight,” Sam says with a broad smile. 

That must be the right answer, because Natalie’s smile goes from fairly stock bar-pickup-sexy to genuinely pleased, her red lips twisting to the side a little as her nose wrinkles up. “Where exactly would you suggest, if you were my tour guide?”

“Well, the walk between here and 14th Street is very scenic,” Sam says. “We could get tres leches at Mi Casita.” 

“Luckily for me, these heels are surprisingly comfortable,” Natalie says, lifting one foot to show off a silver pump that definitely doesn’t look even remotely comfortable. 

“Comfortable and attractive is a combination to hold onto,” Sam says. He signals the bartender for his check as he shifts his weight towards Natalie. She leans in a little closer, the pleased smile still on her face.

“I’ll just run and powder my nose, then,” Natalie says, and while, by all accounts, the phrase ‘powder my nose’ should sound incredibly cheesy, she actually manages to make it come across as charming. Maybe she spends a lot of time with a grandmother or older aunt, somebody from a time period where a lady would never say she was going to the toilet. While Sam is mulling that over, Natalie stands and walks towards the restrooms with only the slightest intentional swing to her hips.

Sam pulls cash out of his wallet when the check arrives, setting it on the bar as he keeps watching Natalie. “I have a feeling nothing gets past her, in a good way,” he says to himself. 

 

_2150: Subject and operative relocating to Mi Casita. Advise B team maintain broad perimeter. No extraction required._

 

When Natalie returns from the restroom, she manages to look even more composed and attractive, so perhaps some literal nose-powdering transpired. She raises her eyebrows at Sam, a smaller version of her pleased smile quirking her lips to one side. 

“Ready?” she asks. 

“I am,” Sam says, standing and offering her his arm. She laughs softly as she takes it, one hand curled around his bicep and the other resting lightly on his forearm. Sam nods a final time at the bartender and leads Natalie out of the bar. 

“So, you said you were on a jerk chicken tour,” Natalie says as they walk down the street. “Does that mean you’re new to D.C.? Or are you just a food tourist?”

“Not brand-new, but I’m not a native,” Sam says. “You?” 

“Oh, I’m not really _from_ anywhere in particular.”

“Army brat?” Sam asks. 

Natalie tips her head to the side in thought for a second. “You could say that.”

“Hard life for a kid,” Sam says. “So if you don’t go to Wonderland Lounge often, where do you go?” 

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Natalie says, following her statement with a musical laugh. 

“Well, if you’re going to tell me you spend time at The Camelot, no,” Sam says. 

Natalie shakes her head. “It’s a sports bar. You know the type: twenty-six flat screen TVs and all-you-can-eat hotwings.”

“You? Settling for regular flat screens when you have those technological connections?” Sam asks teasingly. 

“I have this friend. He’s… older. He says all the screens make him feel like he’s in the middle of it, like he’s back at Ebbets Field when he was a kid.”

“Oh, man, that’s a throwback!” Sam says. “He’s got to be at least seventy?” He doesn’t say anything, but he can feel himself straighten a little. He definitely called the ‘spending time with older people’ thing. 

“At least,” Natalie agrees. 

“Well, I’d like to see that,” Sam says. “Your usual place, and your friend, too.” 

“But not tonight, I think,” Natalie says, with a playful note in her voice. She squeezes his arm gently. 

Sam laughs a little. “No, not tonight. Tonight is for Mi Casita, I think.” 

“Definitely,” Natalie says. “We’d better hurry if we want enough time for a pastry and a cup of coffee before closing.”

“They’re always happy to fix things up to go, too.” 

“I’ll try to have a destination in mind, just in case, then.”

They arrive at Mi Casita ten minutes before closing, and Sam holds the door open for Natalie. “Should we tell them it’s to go?” Sam asks. 

Natalie nods. “We need at least one of the swirly kind,” she says, pointing at the case holding the various pastries and desserts. “Plus the tres leches.”

Sam nods. “Coffee?” 

“I always feel strange getting coffee to go,” Natalie says, wrinkling her nose. “We always drank it in the shop.”

“Yeah? Small town?” 

“Hmm. Not particularly, no. It’s just how it was done. At home we made it in a _турка_.” Natalie looks briefly startled when the last word, which is clearly in Russian, slips out, but she recovers quickly, giving his arm a squeeze. “I was raised in a very traditional household, is all.”

“Makes sense,” Sam says, filing the Russian-speaking in the back of his mind to think more about later. “Want to get some to go and transfer it to a mug?” 

Natalie smiles. “Mmm. A compromise I can live with. Your mug or mine?”

“I’m just off Meridian, before 16th,” Sam says. 

“Your mug, then,” Natalie says. “Just so you know, you should get your own pastry. I’m _not_ sharing mine.”

“Not the worst policy,” Sam says as he approaches the counter to order. While he’s at the counter, Natalie pulls her Stark phone from her impossibly tiny clutch and sends a text, presumably to the same check-in friend from earlier. 

 

_2159: Arrived Mi Casita. Relocating to subject’s private residence. B team stand down._

 

Sam offers Natalie his arm again once he has their food in a bag and each of them has a coffee in one hand. “How are your comfortable yet attractive shoes holding up?” 

“Remember when I said how comfortable they are?” Natalie asks. 

“That comfortable?” 

“I might have been deceptive about the comfort level. Just a bit.”

“Only about four more blocks.” 

“I’m not sure my feet will survive,” Natalie admits. “Can you hold my coffee?”

“Of course,” Sam says, taking her cup in his free hand. Natalie slips off her silver pumps and holds the ankle straps of both shoes on one finger before retrieving the coffee from Sam.

“Much better!” she says, wiggling her toes against the sidewalk. “You’ll have to help me avoid any broken glass.”

“I could always carry you on my back,” Sam jokes. 

“I promise I’m even lighter than I look!” Natalie says. 

“I’m stronger than you’re thinking, too.” 

“But I’m holding this cup of hot coffee.”

“Hold it steady,” Sam says. “Or hand it to me.” 

“Are you really about to give me a four-block piggyback ride through D.C.?” Natalie asks as she hands her coffee to Sam, exchanging it for the bag of pastries. 

“Well, yeah,” Sam says, laughing a little. “It’s an adventure.” Once she’s on his back, he can’t help but note how strongly her thighs are gripping. 

“Faster!” Natalie says, leaning her weight forward against his back. Her breath is hot against his ear. 

“Did I forget to mention this is the scenic piggyback _tour_?” Sam says, walking exaggeratedly slowly down the sidewalk. 

“Noooo!” Natalie squeals delightedly, digging her heels into the front of Sam’s thighs. “Fast!”

“Let me guess,” Sam says as he does increase his speed. “You were a horse girl.” 

“No, I was a dancer.”

“The ballet?” Sam asks, turning onto Meridian. 

“Mmhmm,” Natalie murmurs in his ear. 

“Modern?” 

“Never. Classical all the way.”

“Too bad, I like the modern stuff sometimes,” Sam admits. He rounds the corner and nods towards his place. “Right down there.” 

“I’m a very modern girl, I promise,” Natalie says. 

“Oh, that’s good,” Sam says, going up the stairs. 

“I hope the kitchen isn’t the ground floor,” Natalie says. “This is fun!’

“It’s on the second floor,” Sam tells her. 

“Yay!” Natalie lightly drums her heels against Sam’s thighs. 

Sam laughs and unlocks the door, then heads upstairs towards the kitchen. “So a ballet dancer that likes to go fast, huh?” 

“The ballet is a fast-moving art form, Sam,” Natalie says. “It’s just subtle.”

“Tell me about that,” Sam suggests as he stops in front of the counter, setting the coffees down. 

“You want to discuss the subtleties of the ballet?”

“You do have a pastry to eat.” 

Natalie sighs dramatically. “I suppose this means you’re putting me down?”

Sam grins. “For the time being.” 

“Well, that’s no fun at all, Sam.”

“You haven’t asked about the circumstances under which I might pick you back up,” Sam points out.

“I retract my statement,” Natalie responds primly. “Put me down, and we’ll eat and discuss the ballet like civilized people do in their kitchens with near-strangers.”

Sam lets Natalie slide down, and he turns towards her. “Did you need to check in with your friend?” 

Natalie looks momentarily startled. “Oh! Yes, I probably should.” She retrieves her phone from the tiny clutch—and seriously, how _does_ she fit that huge phone in there?—and types out a message to her friend.

 

_2232: Arrived subject’s residence. Assessing for team compatibility but initial evaluation high. Will follow up by 0600. Window is dark._

 

Sam plates the pastries and pours their coffee into mugs while Natalie checks in with her friend, then sets them on the table. He doesn’t sit down, though, leaning against the counter and smiling at Natalie as she looks up. 

“This looks delicious,” Natalie says. 

“I know it’s not what you find at your sports bar with the wings,” Sam says, “but you wouldn’t have found me there, either.” 

“Hotwings do have a certain appeal, I’ll grant you, but I don’t think I’d trade tonight’s company for my friend shouting at the Nationals for three hours,” Natalie says. “In twenty-six different directions.”

“Old guys love their teams,” Sam says. “Don’t judge him.” 

“Oh, I’ll judge him, alright. I’ll judge him _hard_.”

Sam laughs. “Pastry here? Or upstairs?”

“Do you enjoy crumbs in your bed, or is that just a side-effect you’re willing to live with?” Natalie asks. 

“Willing to live with.” Sam leans in close to Natalie’s ear. “I own multiple sets of sheets.” 

Natalie smiles. “Sam Wilson, I like the way you think.”

“Want another ride on my back upstairs?” Sam asks, realizing as he turns that he doesn’t remember telling Natalie his last name. 

“Yay!” Natalie squeals, clapping her hands. As Natalie climbs on and they head upstairs, Sam decides it’s probably not important, considering they’re about to be in his bedroom. Maybe she even had her friend look him up, for safety reasons. 

 

_0517: Thorough assessment of subject complete. Good team player. Ability to split focus between short- and long-term goals. More concerned for the well-being of a teammate than himself, but not rash or self-sacrificing. Recommend move to phase 2 for Avengers Initiative._

 

Sam doesn’t really have to squint when he opens his eyes, because it’s not even dawn yet, and Natalie is up moving around. “Hey,” he says quietly. 

“Hi,” Natalie says. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You can’t stay?” Sam asks, and if it sounds a little bit like pouting, he’s okay with that. 

“I’ve seen your hair, Sam. Pretty sure you don’t have the tools it takes to make mine look this good.” She smiles at him as she bends over to retrieve her panties from the far corner of the bed. 

“Hair has to be done for breakfast?” 

“Hair has to be done for work.”

“It’s Friday. Can’t go in late?” 

Natalie shakes her head, and at least has the decency to look genuinely disappointed about it. “Sorry. Demanding job. Early mornings, late nights, no weekends.”

Sam sighs and reaches for the bedside table, sliding his phone towards her. “At least put your information in here for me?” 

“Of course,” Natalie says. She picks up the phone and quickly types in her information, holding the phone up so Sam can read the screen and see she has entered her name as ‘Nat Rushman’. “See? I’m usually wrapping it up by seven or eight, provided there’s no international terrorism or alien invasions.” Sam chuckles and shakes his head at that. 

“I’ll remember that,” he says. 

“This was fun,” Natalie says, leaning over him on the bed and pressing her lips to his in a long, but relatively chaste kiss. She smiles at him again as she stands. “Gotta go.”

Sam falls back onto his pillow and sighs. “Bye,” he says as Natalie goes through the door. He watches her, then listens to her leave, and after five or so minutes have passed, he throws the covers off of him. He’s awake, so he might as well stay up. He can use the extra time to return the Google-favor and find out why Natalie has Stark connections, and after that, he’ll use Amazon. Maybe if he has a straightener and a blowdryer, Natalie won’t head out before six in the morning.

THE END


End file.
